


Rebel with a Cause

by mythras_fire



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Captain America: The First Avenger, International Fanworks Day 2018, M/M, New York Public Library - Freeform, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Research, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is no Alpha's plaything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythras_fire/pseuds/mythras_fire
Summary: Pre-war New York, United States. skinnyOmega!Steve is pre-heat and not looking forward to the change. At all. He decides he’s going to stand up to the Alphas taking over Europe any way he can.Alternate take on the beginning of Captain America: The First Avenger.





	Rebel with a Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Note the first: I tried to do research on how the New York Public Library looked and functioned in 1941 but I'm sure there are inaccuracies in my descriptions, so please embrace the AU part of this story and just smile and nod along with me ;) Same goes with any other cultural references, which of course do not belong to me. No sirree Bob.
> 
> Note the second: Tony Stark is pinch-hitting for his dad here because I know how to characterize him better than Howard, so um, yeah. It's my headcanon, I do what I want \o/

~*~  
Prelude  
~*~

‘Just a poke,’ they would say, ‘come on, just a little poke.’ It was always just a poke with Alphas. Except that it was never just a poke. There were always consequences that followed one of their beloved pokes, not that they cared any, as long as they didn’t accidentally bond with the Omega they were poking. What were Omegas good for anyway, if not a good old fashioned roll in the hay? Apparently not much, other than breeding.

Steve is so sick of hearing that word and the smarmy mock-pleading tone that accompanies it that he’s ready to deck the next Alpha who uses that line on him. It wouldn’t do him any good, though. In fact, it would have the opposite effect and most likely get him poked with something a lot harder and a lot more painful than some horny Alpha’s cock, by someone who didn’t take kindly to Omegas overstepping their bounds and getting in the way of an Alpha and a “good time”. Even skinny-ass sickly ones like him.

So far, Steve has been able to avoid experiencing some of the horror stories that he hears other Omegas have suffered through, for several reasons. 

One, he doesn’t go out much. Why bother? The only places to meet other Omegas are the same places to meet Alphas because who are the majority of Omegas out there to meet? That’s right, you guessed it. Bars and dives are a moot point for Steve since he doesn’t drink or smoke. In point of fact, he can’t stand the Alphas or Omegas who do. Betas, bless them, also abstain because they’re the designated drivers and caretakers of Alphas and Omegas so it wouldn’t do for your handlers to be worse off than you are, now would it? Omegas don’t do it much either, really, because they’re being primped and primed, from the day they’re old enough to understand what an Alpha is, to be as appealing to them as possible. Are you noticing a trend yet? Sometimes, Steve wants to bang his head into the nearest wall at the way vanity and social conditioning have been inculcated into society so stealthily over several generations as some twisted sense of duty and honor. But Steve refrains because that would draw unwanted attention and that is the last thing he wants.

Two, he hasn’t reached his majority yet so he’s still flying more or less under the radar. But soon enough he will enter his first heat. You know how people always joke about wishing they could turn back the hands of time, so that they could be 18 forever and have the metabolism of a teenager and be wrinkle-free, etc. etc. blah blah blah? Well, Steve wishes he could literally turn back the clock or, even better, break the damn thing altogether so that he will never attract an Alpha’s attention from four blocks away through scent alone, dagnabit. He’s not a bloody fish, just waiting for the great white shark to sniff out his musk from one part per billion in a sea of other Omegas going about their day! He’s already contemplating going into hiding. He’s been reading up on the warning signs that precede the first heat, which is, of course, worse than the heats to follow. The first one’s always a doozy, they say. According to the dusty, yellow-paged tomes he unearths in the back of the library (guess no one else seems to be worrying about this, which figures), Omegas are at their most potent during their first heat. Like some sort of demented rite of passage. Studies have shown that there is a statistically significant likelihood that knotting will occur during the first couple of waves, thereby increasing the chances for successful breeding. Steve, however, is not a breeding machine. He doesn’t care what the books say. He may be physically capable of popping out offspring but that has no bearing on his willingness to do so. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. If they’d wanted ultra-compliant Omegas they should have bred out that pesky little thing called free-will a long time ago.

Three, he’s not sure he’s even attracted to Alphas. Or Betas. Or even other Omegas. Oh, he knows a gorgeous Alpha when he sees one, no question. He also gets his rocks off just like every other Omega whenever he goes to see explicit films where in the wonderful world of make-believe, Omegas throw off the shackles of their subjugated place in society and poke all the Alphas they want, much to the titillation of the audience (the Alphas in the movie house think it’s just harmless science fiction; the Omegas in the movie house – well the ones with minds of their own anyway – wonder if such a world could ever exist). 

He also reads more than his fair share of literature (sci-fi/fantasy is his favorite) full of all sorts of fanciful escapades and relationships of all shapes and sizes and D/s combinations. But he just doesn’t know if he wants any of that for himself. He’s a romantic at heart, always has been, and as the new moon of his change draws nearer, he becomes ever more wistful that he’ll never get to experience a romantic relationship with someone because the allure of sex and ultimate aim of breeding will always be there, looming over his mate, making it impossible for Steve to be loved for who he is, not what. 

Little does he know that his life is about to change forever on a rainy day in late December, 1941, in a dimly lit corner of the New York Public Library.

~*~

Pearl Harbor was bombed only a few weeks ago, President Roosevelt has declared that America is going to join the war effort full-time now, and Steve is in the library pulling one book after another off the shelf in a mad dash for information. It’s damp on the second floor, not nearly warm enough, and he’s sure he’ll catch a cold from the dank air, but Steve just blows on his hands and rubs them together vigorously. He’s huddled on the musty-smelling, cold, unforgiving marble floor surrounded by a growing stack of precariously piled books. The rain isn’t helping his mood much but at least it’s not snowing. He’d rather be in here anyway than out on the street where everyone is walking around in a sort of distracted, nervous daze, false yuletide cheer rosy on their windblown cheeks.

He’s looking for information on how to delay the onset of the change and the first heat. He's already exhausted all the resources the NY Public Library Brooklyn branch had so he's ventured up and over into Manhattan to try his luck in the main branch at 5th Ave and 42nd Street. It's a good backup for when his local branch doesn't have the book he needs. 

If he could just get drafted, maybe all the physical exertion from boot camp would do him some good. Might not delay anything but at least he’d be stronger going in. You can’t walk two blocks down 5th Avenue without seeing one of those “UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU! For the U.S. Army” posters set up in display windows or tacked to lampposts. He looks down at the bookmark with the same emblem and message on it that he’s using to mark his place whenever he sets down the book he’s reading to cross reference another one.

Steve wants to join the fight against the Alphas who are trying to take over Europe. He flips the bookmark over to read, for the umpteenth time, the date and place hastily written down in big block letters confirming his recruitment appointment two weeks from today at the VA in Brooklyn. His 2nd attempt. He’d been rejected outright at the gate the first time around. He knows he’s a weakling and he knows that he’ll have to come back to Brooklyn where the local Alphas will treat him like dirt but he still wants to help make the world a better place for Betas and Omegas. Because life is hard enough. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to stand up to the Alphas for once in his life. Stand tall and be unafraid.

Steve has his nose in a particularly dusty tome, flipping through the pages to find the index in the back for the section about the change; the dust rising up into the air makes him sneeze several times. He’s allergic to dust, of course. Most airborne particles in fact. It’s a wonder he’s not allergic to the very air he breathes.

“Gesundheit,” comes a male voice from the other side of the stacks. Steve is a little startled because he hadn’t thought anyone else was up here. And the man’s choice of words is…worrisome.

“Um, thank you?” he ventures back warily. He has to be careful these days, you never know if you’re going to run into an Alpha who’s playing at sympathetic just to lure you in. And no, Steve’s not extremely cynical and jaded, why do you ask?

“Um, you’re welcome.”

Great. Now the voice is mocking him. So much for sympathetic. Steve knows better than to go looking for the source of the voice in case it belongs to Trouble so he turns back to his reading. He pulls his sleeve up to cover his nose this time as he locates the page number he needs and turns back towards the beginning of the book with his free hand. So far all he’s found are scant mentions of cases with Omegas who experienced abnormal changes and came out… different. Not exactly comforting, that. He’s not sure what that means or if it was due to tampering with potions or hormone therapy or what because the texts don’t go into detail. As if even the mention of it in a footnote is more than it deserves.

A sick feeling of hopelessness is starting to take up residence in the pit of Steve’s stomach. There has to be something he can do. Some way he can find out how to either stave off the effects of the change or turn them to his advantage so that he doesn’t become a scented homing beacon for dull, lonely Alphas with blue balls and time to kill. Ugh, speaking of which, Steve’s going to need to go home soon before it gets dark or he’ll really be courting Trouble as the Alphas working in the vicinity of the library leave work and head for the nearest watering hole.

Trouble, it seems, has come courting Steve instead. A shadow falls across the page he’s skimming in the anemic yellow light coming from the ceiling lamps. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, hoping and praying the shadow belongs to someone who isn’t prone to preying on Omegas who have strayed from the pack. The man clears his throat, thereby asking for Steve’s attention, and Steve reluctantly turns his head to the right and takes in the sight of the stranger from his expensive shoes up the length of his smartly creased black wool pants to a buttoned-up red cardigan and white collared shirt.

"Excuse me, hello. I was wondering if you happened to be done with those books there?” the man inquires politely, pointing to the stack of books Steve has been perusing. He finally looks up far enough to match the voice with the face and is slightly startled again, his breath hitching in his throat, to find that the voice belongs to another Omega. And a small one at that. Small but attractive.

It’s in the eyes, you see.

The designation of whether you’re an Alpha, a Beta, or an Omega. It’s hard to explain, but Steve can still remember when he was 5 or 6 and recognized an Alpha for the first time. There’s a haughty glint in their eyes that is unmistakable. Beta eyes have a clear, crisp glint, one of professionalism and service. Steve’s lucky if he sees anything glinting back at him from other Omegas’ eyes. Okay, so they’re not all that bad, but he’s not exaggerating that much either, which is sad. Some Omegas, however, can talk the talk and walk the walk of an Alpha, but once you get a look at their eyes the jig is up. Hence, Steve’s nervousness from a little bit ago. This one’s got the voice and mannerisms down pat. He’s even dressed the part. All he’d have to do is don some fancy sunglasses and people would have no trouble believing he was some billionaire Alpha playboy.

Steve remembers then that he has been asked a question and pulls himself away from his wayward thoughts to stammer out a reply. “These books?” he asks as he turns to glance at the hardcover tomes before looking back up at the man. “Well, um, not exactly. I was just uh, pulling them down to look through them.”

“Were you going to check them out?”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm for a moment before he quickly answers with a vehement shake of his head, “Are you kidding me, of course not! Not sure they’d let me back in here if they saw what I wanted to take home with me.” Steve looks down at the book in his hands and mutters mostly to himself, “not sure if I’d even make it home if I ran into an Alpha with books like these under my arm.”

The other man raises an eyebrow at Steve’s panicked reply but doesn’t say anything about it. “So would you mind if I took a look at a couple of them while you’re looking at that one?” he asks, pointing at the book in Steve’s lap as he begins moving slowly around him to where the growing tower of books is starting to teeter ominously to one side.

Steve remembers his manners in time to say, “Please, be my guest,” with a hand wave to his left.

“Thanks,” the other man says as he gracefully folds himself into a sitting position opposite Steve’s left flank. He extends his right hand and looks at Steve expectantly. “Name’s Tony.”

Steve regards Tony’s outstretched hand like it might possibly bite his own hand off if he moves too suddenly so he cautiously extends his right hand across his body, keeping one eye on their hands as he introduces himself. “Steve. Ni…nice to meet you, Tony.” Tony’s hand is warm, which feels so good against Steve’s cold one that he’s hard-pressed to take his hand back.

“Likewise,” Tony says. Steve eventually turns back to the book in his lap, one of his hands strangely warm while the other one remains cold and stiff. Steve covers the cold hand with the warm one and can feel the warmth being leached out of the palm of his right hand. He tries to ignore that sensation and goes back to what he was reading.

Tony spends the next few minutes picking up one book after another from Steve’s pile, examining the title on the spine, leafing through it the way Steve has been doing, and then setting it aside in a new pile for a deeper perusal later, Steve figures. They carry on mostly in silence for another five minutes or so until they’re interrupted by the wind that has picked up and is blowing through a tree planted right outside the window, its bare branches making a bumping and scratching sound against the glass.

The change in weather reminds Steve that he best be leaving now. His best friend Bucky’s gonna be mad at him if he’s late getting home for supper. He closes the book he’s been reading, sets it on top of Tony’s pile, and starts putting the other books that he’d pulled down since Tony had joined him back onto the shelf. The other man is currently absorbed in one of the books Steve had only glossed over because the writing had been too technical for his limited academic vocabulary knowledge to comprehend. When he gets to his feet and starts brushing off his now-wrinkled, definitely non-creased dark grey wool pants that have seen better days, Tony’s attention is finally torn away from a very-detailed-looking schematic drawing and he looks up at Steve in question.

“Well, I best be going now if I want to make the subway before the 5 o’clock rush,” Steve says quietly as he tries to smooth his clothes into some semblance of respectability. He fails. There wasn’t much hope for his clothes to begin with but you have to start somewhere, right? He finally meets Tony’s eyes and is again drawn in by the intelligent glint reflected there. He hardly ever sees that in other Omegas, so this is strange new territory for him but he likes the feeling of it, brief and ephemeral though it may be.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says earnestly before turning to leave.

“You, too,” Tony replies with a hint of something in his voice that Steve can’t place.

Steve has almost turned the corner of the stacks when he thinks he hears Tony say something.

“Take care.”

When his brain catches up to his ears he smiles to himself and manages to throw a “Thanks, you too,” over his shoulder before making his way hurriedly down to the main floor, the carpeted stairway muffling the sound of his already light footsteps.

~*~

Steve returns to the library a week later to turn in some regular books that he’s not afraid to check out. He’s always been a bookworm, partly due to being stuck indoors a lot with one illness or another, and partly because he just loves to read, period. His favorite genres are books about fantasy lands, adventures, and fairytales. He’s just finished L. Frank Baum’s fantastical story called The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He’s heard the film was nice but he didn’t have the money to go see it when it was in the theater, but that’s okay, he prefers to read anyway.

“That was a good movie, have you seen it?” comes the Alpha-voice from behind Steve, making him jump and scrunch his shoulders up around his ears like a turtle retreating into its shell. The man he’d met last week in the stacks on the second floor is suddenly sliding up next to him at the check-out counter and Steve relaxes a little bit as he realizes who it is.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man apologizes, sounding sincere.

“It’s alright, I was just uh, lost in thought and um, didn’t hear you coming,” Steve mumbles.

“So how’s the book? I probably should have read it first but I always seem to be busy doing other things,” the other man…Tony, if Steve recalls his name right, replies.

“The book is very good. Makes me wish we had a wizard to go see about—” Steve stops abruptly and looks over at where the librarian is filing cards away in the card catalog at the other end of the check-out counter, then looks back toward Tony and continues in a low voice, “—you know...”

Tony’s eyes twinkle as he sighs in agreement. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

The librarian comes over to check Steve’s book back in so Steve doesn’t notice what Tony pulls out of his inner jacket pocket until it’s lying on the counter in front of him. He turns to the other man in confusion.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you and it looks like today is my lucky day.”

Steve is taken aback. “You have?” He can’t stop looking back and forth between Tony and the bookmark he’d thought he’d lost on the way home via the subway a week ago. “It is?”

Tony gives him another one of his genuine, charming smiles, and Steve can’t help but smile back. “The information on this bookmark looked like it might be important to you. I didn’t want you to miss your appointment.”

By the time he’d misplaced it, Steve had memorized the details from repeatedly reading the back of the bookmark to himself, so losing it hadn’t been such a terrible loss, but he doesn’t feel the need to tell Tony this. He’s flattered that the other man had bothered at all, frankly.

“You didn’t?”

Steve’s thumb and index finger trace the lower left corner of the crinkled paper. He feels himself flush slightly at all this personal attention. He clears his throat and manages a soft “Thank you, but you didn’t have to,” as he pockets the bookmark, eyes darting here and there nervously.

“It was no trouble,” Tony says easily. “At least I found you today, means you still have a week left before your…” he pauses as he waits expectantly for Steve to finish the sentence.

Steve takes a deep breath and moves away from the check-out counter, leading Tony over to a small table and chairs set up below a window looking out on the hustle and bustle of 42nd Street. He sits down, takes another deep breath, and awaits the dreadful, inevitable laughter and derisive comments that usually accompany Steve’s answer.

“Draft appointment.”

There is no laughter. No ‘You’re kidding, right?’ remark full of incredulity.

“Ahhh, see, all the more reason why I wanted to run into you.”

There’s something about this man that has Steve constantly on his guard, but not in the way you’d think. Not like he’s run into Trouble. No, more like he can’t believe this guy is for real. He keeps expecting to have heard wrong. To have mistaken this polite young man for someone he could possibly confide in. Someone like Bucky.

So far he’s taken Tony’s interest – because you might as well call it that – at face value and responded in kind. The intrigue of an Omega who can assume the mantle of an Alpha and yet still consort with other Omegas has his curiosity piqued and then some.

“You did?” Steve really needs to stop replying to Tony’s comments with clarifying questions that sound like he doesn’t quite believe him, but he can’t help himself. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from fidgeting like he’s prone to doing when he’s nervous or preoccupied about something. That doesn’t stop his feet from shifting around restlessly underneath the table, however, the soles of his worn-out shoes making a soft shuffling sound on the wide tile squares, the faintest sound of crumpled up newspaper crinkling between his toes.

Tony smiles at him with a captivating warmth in his eyes that Steve rarely sees in other Omegas. “Yes, I did. It’s a good thing you’re a bit of a bookworm or else I’m not sure I would have run into you in time. Although I suppose I could have staked out the VA office all day next Thursday, that is, if you remembered where and when to be without the bookmark, but this way is much more convenient, don’t you think?”

Steve momentarily forgets his manners and just sits there staring, mouth slightly agape.

Tony appears to take pity on him because he chuckles quietly and leans forward conspiratorially, as if to relay a secret, and says in a charming voice, “Would you like to go get a coffee somewhere? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Tony looks around quickly like he’s checking for eavesdroppers. “A project. Concerning the Army.”

Steve can only nod in agreement as he is too caught up – in the smart turn of Tony’s collared shirt, the slick line of his combed hair, the pleasing scent of his cologne, and the most alluring thing of all, the confident, intelligent gleam in his chocolate brown eyes – to offer any words in reply.  
The other man smiles warmly. “Wonderful! Shall we, then?”

Steve notes that Tony seems genuinely pleased by his new acquaintance’s acquiescence, and is bolstered enough by this enthusiasm to break out of his stupor to reply, “Yes, let’s.”

On their way out through the revolving doors of the library into the chilly December air – Tony shrugging on his luxurious cashmere winter coat, Steve wrapping the hand-me-down gray and black striped scarf Bucky had given him for his birthday last year around his neck – he asks if Tony is an officer in the Army.

Tony scoffs quietly. “Me? No, not me. I’m sort of a scientist. An engineer really,” he grins sidelong at Steve as they exit the library through the grand front doors of the Beaux-Arts building. As they pass by the elegant marble lions guarding the steps, bedecked in holiday wreaths, Tony tips his smart-looking black fedora towards the north and then south steps. “Patience. Fortitude. Hold down the fort. Good lions,” he quips as they begin walking down the street, dodging snow drifts that had been shoved off the street onto the sidewalk by snow plows early that morning. “Bit of a genius, actually,” he adds nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just digressed from their conversation to address a couple of marble statues.

The matter-of-fact-ness with which this statement is uttered, not to mention the casual talking to inanimate objects, makes Steve laugh out loud, which he isn’t accustomed to doing, especially out in public. He immediately claps a gloved hand over his mouth and looks over at Tony in embarrassment but the other man hasn’t lost his grin. In fact, to Steve’s sheer amazement, he winks at him as if to say ‘I’m glad you find the truth so amusing’ with a bravado that Steve’s only ever dreamed of having.

They reach their intended destination at that moment, a small Italian restaurant named Caruso at 130 W 42nd Street. Tony holds the door open for Steve, waving him through with his free hand. Steve smiles bashfully as he says ‘thank you’ and slips past Tony, who inclines his head in response. The taller man (now that he’s stood next to him, of course he’s taller, just about everyone is) leads them over to a corner table in the back of the restaurant, a cozy little nook. Steve has never actually been thankful for not having enough layers to wear out in the cold, but at the feel of Tony’s warm gloved hand gently guiding him at the small of his back, he realizes he doesn’t mind so much for once.

Emboldened by this strange new sense of being the object of someone else’s undivided, but more importantly, _respectful_ attention, Steve finds himself quipping, “A genius, huh? How modest of you.”

That comment earns him another cheeky grin. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Tony informs him, pulling out the chair in front of him and motioning with a hand for Steve to take a seat. Then he proceeds to pull out a money clip from the breast pocket of his winter coat that looks like it’s going to break in half from the strain of holding the fat wad of bills that is gripped within its teeth.

He deftly separates a bill from the pack before stuffing the whole thing back into his breast pocket, remarking nonchalantly, “Did I forget to add ‘billionaire playboy philanthropist’ to that list?” before walking away to order two coffees at the counter without leaving Steve a chance to reply. Steve is staring, mouth agape once more. Ok, so forget the sunglasses. Apparently, Tony already _is_ a billionaire playboy. But he is also undoubtedly an Omega. The only other person Steve looks at straight in the eyes as much as he’s been looking at Tony is Bucky. So he knows what he’s seen. How is this possible?

Several minutes later Tony returns with two piping hot mugs of pitch black coffee and a small tray of condiments: milk, sugar, and spoons. Steve has regained most of his composure and accepts his mug with a steady hand.

Tony prepares his coffee with practiced ease, adding a dollop of milk, a heaping teaspoon of sugar, and stirring the mixture briskly before raising the mug to his lips and blowing softly on the steaming surface before taking his first sip. When he sets the mug down on its saucer and looks up at Steve, he is all business.

“I would like to tell you about a project we’ve been working on. Better soldiers through science.” Tony takes a longer sip of his coffee before continuing. “Super soldiers.”

Steve is bemused and fascinated in equal measure. “That sounds amazing, but why are you telling me all this? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly super soldier material,” Steve frowns into his own mug of coffee, plain and bitterly strong. “Or super anything for that matter.”

“Ah, but you underestimate yourself, my friend. Dr. Erskine has been looking for just such a candidate and when I told him about meeting you last week he just about kicked me out of the laboratory insisting that I go find you again and ask you to come to his office for a meeting.”

"Who’s Dr. Erskine?”

“He’s the scientist in charge of the project. I work with him. Been helping him design and build the machinery necessary for this grand idea of his.” Tony dumps another heaping teaspoon of sugar into his coffee and stirs it some more, then looks back up at Steve. “Would you consider going to meet with him? It could be your way into the Army.”

“What did you say about me?” Steve’s having trouble processing what he could possibly have to offer a secret scientific project for creating super soldiers.

Tony considers him coolly for a moment. He leans forward in his seat, earnest in his intensity. “I told him that I had met someone who exhibited the qualities he’s been looking for. Strength of spirit, boldness to challenge the status quo, courage to enlist voluntarily in a deadly venture. A rebel. When I mentioned that your, shall we say, slight stature and mien didn’t seem to be holding you back any, he became even more interested.”

Steve’s never heard himself described this way before. Bucky is the only other person, Beta or otherwise, to have used supportive terms in describing his best friend’s character traits. Steve rather expects that from Bucky, though, and has always appreciated it and tried never to take it for granted. But to hear it from a perfect stranger, and after such a brief initial encounter even!

“When… where- when and where would he like to meet me?” Steve manages to get out. This opportunity is too good to pass up, he thinks. Maybe they might even have some sort of cure for the change figured out! Or a suppressant at the very least. Because surely, creating better soldiers means not being cowed by one’s status in society if serving the greater good, right?

The hope and possibilities stemming from this venture must show on Steve’s face because Tony’s own lights up and he raises his left arm to clasp Steve’s right shoulder in a show of excitement. “That’s the spirit! How about next Thursday, after your draft appointment? I’ll pick you up.”

Steve grins. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Great! Now, how’d you like to come over to my house for dinner? Jarvis makes a mean grilled cheese sandwich. And I can show you the blueprints I have in mind for a couple of my own projects,” Tony says, his brown eyes shining with barely concealed glee at getting to show off his work to a new friend. Which, wow, Steve guesses he is. Well, what do you know?

Steve feels that odd sense of liberty to tease swelling up inside him again so he lets fly a cheeky retort, “Let me guess. Your Rolls is waiting outside to whisk us off to your mansion where your English butler, clad head to toe in finery, will welcome us with perfect manners and show us into the drawing room whilst he prepares our meal.”

Tony replies in a deadpan voice, “In a word, yes.”

Steve’s jaw drops for the third time in an hour. He’d just been kidding, taking examples from hoity-toity English movies he and Bucky had gone to see when they’d saved up their pennies and then made fun of on the walk home.

"Grilled cheese, huh? I suppose the bread is a fancy affair, then, too.”

“The fanciest.”

Steve rises from his chair, taking one last sip of his coffee. Tony follows suit.

“Well, I’m famished. I may not look it, but I can eat you out of house and home if given the chance, just ask Bucky.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve just winks at Tony over his shoulder as he wraps his scarf more tightly around his neck.

Tony laughs as they head for the door. “Oh, so it’s going to be like that, is it? Well, lucky for you, I like a challenge. Right this way, sir.”

Steve could get definitely get used to the door-holding, chair-pulling-out, the friendly smile, and the brown eyes sparkling with brilliance and more than a hint of mischief.

Without a doubt.


End file.
